Monday 10 February 2003
Bella
Bella is my tortoiseshell kitty, living with the parents back in Perth. She's about 20 now; she turned up on our doorstep in 1984 and was about six months old then (she'd been dumped from a moving car, the vet reckoned, from some injuries she had then). She's a gorgeous cat, very pretty and little and affectionate with lovely ways. She's MY cat and I'm HER human and we both know it - I come first out of all humans for her. It hurt horribly to leave her behind when I moved over to Norn Iron, even though I knew she would be safe and much loved with the parents. Adopting Jessie (well, a kitten, anyway) was my one and only condition for moving over to Norn Iron from Oz, as I just have to have a cat around the place.
Anyways ... The Headmistress called me today to tell me that (after a whole fucking YEAR of me nagging/demanding/ordering) she had taken Bella to the vet. Turns out she’s not only deaf, but has lost an enormous amount of weight, hasn’t been looking after her coat (she's very fastidious even for a cat), is listless ... Added to all that, the vet said that what Mum and Dad thought was “a scratch on her nose from going out and getting into fights” (er, she doesn’t GO out, she’s an old lady house cat now) is a cancer sore. Mum and Dad made the decision – which they weren’t even going to TELL me about – to have her put down. However, Mum did tell me before they actually did this. The way Mum talked about it, Bella was a total lost cause, nothing to be done, that was the only thing to do. I cried all fucking day as you can imagine. My Bella, my kitty, my friend, who I was so looking forward to seeing again, in just a few weeks time.
Anyway, I called The Headmistress back several hours after said phone call, to ask a few pertinent questions. Is the cancer actually affecting her at this point? How far advanced is it? What would her chances be of surviving an operation to remove it and the prognosis post-op? Or is she “merely” an old lady cat spending her days lying about the house and being affected by the unusually high temperatures (shit, most humans lie around not eating much in weather like that)? Mum and Dad had not asked the vet any of these questions. No. None. No fucking facts at all. Letho-barbs was the only solution as far as they were concerned.
So, at my request (ie, “Mum I will never fucking forgive you if you have Bella put down without finding out the facts, and if you put her down without my consent”) she’s going to go back to the vet to ask all that, plus ask a vet friend of mine/ours for another opinion/look-see and then get back to me. If the cancer *isn’t* affecting her – and from the sounds of it, it isn’t at this stage, it hasn’t progressed anywhere near into her mouth or brain or anything – and she’s still the lovely sweet but tired old lady kitty we know, then I’d much rather she be left in peace, given lots of love, and maybe just go to sleep one day/night and not wake up.
The really hurtful and disgusting thing is that my parents weren’t going to tell me; they hadn’t got the information; and had just decided, oh she’s old and not very mobile, she has to be put down. Just you fucking wait til you’re old and frail, Mum, see if I pull the plug on YOU, YOU BITCH. I mean, it’s not like Bella is suffering major organ failure or major illness at this point – not like with Rocky (my first cat, a splotchy black and white tom), when I had to take him to the vet on a Christmas Eve, found out he had kidney, liver and lung failure .... I made the decision pretty damn fast I can tell you. I’m not like those sicko Americans who will give an 18 year old cat suffering from renal failure sub-Q injections three times a day to give it another three months.
As you can imagine I’m devastated and furious – yes she’s 20 years old so the inevitable IS going to happen eventually; but this, well, I’d been so looking forward to seeing her again, in just three weeks time too, and it looks like I might not get to. Cannot fucking believe it, am so so so upset, and very angry indeed with the parents for their totally unfeeling attitude and for getting me all wound-up and grief-stricken. No point screaming at them, but they haven’t fucking looked after my cat properly over the last eighteen months, my cat who’s been my friend for 20 years and I don’t think I can forgive them, like ever. Tuxedo is also really upset and majorly pissed off – it's great that he can understand that it’s not “just a cat”.
Soooooo glad now that Tuxedo and I had decided that, despite lots of £££ and complexities and against all recommendations, opinion and no doubt good sense, Jessie simply had to come with us to Oz. Oh but my Bella-bel .... oh fuckity fuck fuck fuck.
∞∞∞∞∞
I just had to have a good chuckle now though, over the recent German health study that claimed to prove that cycling reduces a woman's risk of getting breast cancer.
To me, it's so obviously more a matter of the "control group" having better diet, cardio-vascular fitness and also simply being more health conscious, as opposed to Fat American White Trailer Trash Momma. Also, it is equally obvious and well-known that breast cancer can strike anytime, regardless of age group, general health etc. The research that really needs doing in regard to breast cancer are better ways of identifying it early, and less invasive/debilitating treatment for lumps. And so on. Some of these studies are such a fucking waste of money ... particularly when there's not enough research into say, growing stem cells for those with spinal injuries, or even more improved procedure and alternatives regarding organ replacement, or cystic fibrosis, or Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome for that matter.
I think I should write a study entitled "Its All Fucking Common Sense, For Fuck's Sake, Like"